


It's just that it's delicate

by frostysunflowers



Category: Iron Man (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, Spider-Man (Tom Holland Movies), The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Awesome May Parker (Spider-Man), F/M, Gen, Humor, Hurt/Comfort, Injury, Kidnapping, Protective Peter Parker, Protective Tony Stark, turbulent waters ahead folks
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-08-15
Updated: 2020-08-30
Packaged: 2021-03-06 03:14:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,802
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25906402
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/frostysunflowers/pseuds/frostysunflowers
Summary: ''I’m dead,'' Peter moans, the shrillness of it muffled by the rug. ''I’m dead or dying and somehow I’ve ended up in hell.''Something, probably the magazine, strikes him playfully on the back of the head. ''Oh, pipe down, Underoos,’’ Tony retorts, ''this isn’t a big deal.''''Not a - '' Incredulous, Peter pushes himself up on his elbows to gape at Tony. ''Are you insane? You and my aunt used to date!''orTony and May used to date. Looks like they might do it again. What could possibly go wrong?Turns out, the events to come are far worse than any of them could ever have predicted.
Relationships: May Parker (Spider-Man) & Peter Parker, May Parker (Spider-Man)/Tony Stark, Peter Parker & Tony Stark
Comments: 126
Kudos: 279





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> So, this was born from the fact that the movie Only You has been one of my all time favourites since I watched it with my mum as a kid and fell in love with Marisa Tomei's hair and RDJ's red socks, and I spent so long wanting to do a fic based somewhat on the idea of Tony and May being together, thus this fic came to life. It's not an exact au but there's references to the movie so if you're a fan, I hope you like but otherwise, it's just a standard dose of feels and shenanigans. Some tags withheld for future chapters as I don't want to give things away but there will be action and dare I say whump incoming. 
> 
> Big thanks to ciaconnaa for always supporting and validating my insanity <3 
> 
> Please enjoy!

"Okay," Peter takes a deep breath. "Okay, okay. I’m gonna ask a question and I need you both to be honest with me."

Tony and May look up at him from the couch: Tony with a raised eyebrow and a mug of coffee held halfway up to his mouth, May with eyes slowly growing wide in concern. 

Peter lifts the magazine he’s been holding, pages clicking together as he thrusts it forward aggressively. 

"Are these real?"

There’s a pause, a long one in which Tony and May stare at the magazine and Peter stares at them, some kind of horrible sinking sensation taking place in his stomach as he waits. 

Then May starts to giggle, a hand coming up to cover her mouth as she sinks back into the cushions, her shoulder knocking into Tony’s. He jolts to the side a little, sparing her a fond glance before snorting into his coffee. 

"Why are you laughing?" Peter demands, voice pitching into something a bit too hysterical. "This - this isn’t funny, okay? I’m lucky that I’m not scarred for life after seeing these," he shakes the magazine for effect, "so tell me it’s photoshop, yeah? Mister Stark? It is, isn’t it? Please say it is."

"Sorry, kid," Tony says, sounding anything but. "You can’t photoshop pure beauty like that."

With a pitiful cry, Peter drops the magazine to clutch his hair. It lands face up, once again assaulting his vision with images of a young May and Tony, kissing passionately on a balcony with Tony’s fingers trailing through May’s hair, so much shorter than it is now; May wearing a scarlet dress and dancing with Tony in a cobbled street while a saxophone player lingers in the background; Tony kneeling at May’s feet with a shoe in one hand and her ankle in another, grinning up at her while she peers down at him with curious enchantment. 

Peter points an accusing finger at May. "You said you weren’t a fan of Tony Stark!"

"And now you know why," May replies, twirling a strand of her hair sheepishly. 

"Hey," Tony scoffs, feigning an air of hurt. "You broke up with me, remember? I was the injured party left to lick my wounds."

"Oh, don’t give me that - "

Peter lowers himself to the floor as they bicker, stretching out like a limp starfish with his face buried into the rug; the really old, tatty one that May refuses to get rid of because it was a gift from some distant relative that Peter’s never met, and proceeds to groan his distress into it. 

Tony and May. 

May and Tony. 

Mister Stark and Aunt May. 

Aunt May and Mister Stark. 

Peter turns their names over and over again in his mind, a full force spin cycle complete with an extra rinse of the images of Tony and May together, and finds himself still flailing, still trying to compute something that he’d never conjure up even in his wildest dreams. 

"God," May wheezes, "it’s so weird seeing you without your goatee."

"Weird? Please," Tony says smugly, "that face could have made angels cry." There’s a pause, and then a mischievous chuckle. "And you weren’t so bad yourself, Miss Reilly."

"I’m dead," Peter moans, the shrillness of it muffled by the rug. "I’m dead or dying and somehow I’ve ended up in hell."

Something, probably the magazine, strikes him playfully on the back of the head. "Oh, pipe down, Underoos," Tony retorts, "this isn’t a big deal."

"Not a - " Incredulous, Peter pushes himself up on his elbows to gape at Tony. "Are you insane? You and my aunt used to date!"

May wrinkles her nose. "I’d hardly call it dating. Not really."

Tony gives a dramatically forlorn sigh. "Your aunt, after confessing her passionate love for me, decided shortly after that I wasn’t the right man for her and abandoned me at the airport after we left Italy."

"That’s not true!" May smacks a cackling Tony on the arm before looking at Peter. "Once I realised just how insane his life was, I broke it off a couple of weeks later. _Nicely,"_ she adds firmly as Tony opens his mouth to argue. 

"How could you not know how insane his life was?" Peter splutters. "He’s Tony Stark!"

"I knew him as Anthony," May says and, to Peter’s bewilderment and chest caving horror, blushes a rather vivid pink as she smiles. "Anthony Carbonell."

Peter raises both eyebrows at Tony. "You didn’t even tell her your real name?!" 

"Anthony _is_ my real name, genius," Tony whacks Peter with the magazine again. "Carbonell was my mother’s maiden name. I wanted to have a bit of fun, seeing as your aunt had no idea who I was. Until the paps started following us everywhere." 

May pouts sympathetically. "Aw, I knew who you were. I just wanted to knock your ego down a few steps by pretending otherwise." 

Peter’s stomach plummets even further, right down into his unlaced shoes as a slow and very wide grin spreads across Tony’s face. It’s playful and warm but with a trace of what past Tony’s smiles hold in all of those pictures; something softer that Peter feels equally fascinated and bewildered and slightly terrified by. 

"Must you always wound me so, May," Tony practically purrs. 

"I can’t help it if you were a petulant man child who couldn’t handle a bit of rejection."

Tony makes an affronted noise and claps a hand to his chest. "Ugh, even now, you strike me so deep - "

Peter buries his face back into the rug and moans loudly, wondering and actually praying that this isn’t happening and that he is indeed bleeding out in an alleyway somewhere. Somehow, that scenario seems far less traumatising than this.

"On a more serious note," May says, "why and how are these pictures in here? I thought this was all dealt with the first time they were published." 

"Guess some slipped through a gap somewhere," Tony sighs. "As for why…" the pages rustle a few times, "I’m guessing our little rendezvous at _Alberto’s_ the other night had something to do with it."

Twisting his head to the side, Peter catches a glimpse of one of the magazine pages, folded back in Tony’s hand, and sees another photo of a dressed up Tony and May leaving the little italian bistro, arm in arm and doggy bag in hand. 

" _Romance or no chance? Tony Stark steps out with mysterious former flame,_ " May reads aloud, rolling her eyes. "Jeez, presumptuous much? We went out to dinner to discuss Pepper and Happy’s wedding."

"Is _that_ what we were doing?" Tony exclaims. "I thought we were gossiping."

May’s mouth snaps shut and she pins Tony with a look, dangerous and lighthearted all at once. Peter’s heart decides to do the complete opposite of his stomach and shoots upwards instead of down, landing somewhere at the base of his throat where it throbs like a stubbed toe. 

He knows that look, or at least something very close to it. He’s seen it a thousand, maybe even a million times before, in a lifetime that feels so near and yet so far from where they are now. 

The way May is looking at Tony right now is the watercolour version of all those moments; a hazy flicker of light behind rain-splotched glass; the glow of the television when it’s accidentally left on late at night. All familiar and real, but not quite tangible yet. 

Like he can hear the thoughts tumbling in Peter’s head, Tony turns to look at him, their gazes locking together long enough for Peter to catch the glint of vulnerability there before the shutters come down, 

"Don’t worry, Pete, they didn’t get any shots of May feeding me chocolate covered strawberries."

Peter yelps helplessly and Tony’s wild laughter fills the room over May’s scolding.

  
  


* * *

"May?" Peter says the following night as he steps out of the bathroom, fiddling with the edge of the old shirt he’s wearing for bed. It’s soft against his fingers, thin from so many washes, and smells like the same old fabric softener that May’s been using ever since he can remember. "May, uh...can I - "

"Ask about Tony and me?" May finishes, giving him a knowing smile over the back of the couch. 

Peter laughs nervously. "Yeah. Yeah, that."

"You done being crazy over it?"

Peter thinks for a moment, feels only a small surge of hysteria, and nods. 

May pats the space beside her and Peter obediently shuffles over. He barely gets a moment to settle himself before May is tugging and pulling, coaxing him sideways until his head is cushioned on one of her thighs and her hand is weaving through the damp coils of his hair, looping them corkscrew tight until they ping back gently against his scalp. 

"Why didn’t you tell me?" he asks, murmuring the words into the faded denim of May’s jeans.

His upper body lifts and falls slowly as May takes a breath and lets it out in a long sigh. "I don’t know, sweetie. I don’t know if this is what parents are meant to do - talk about the bits of their past that came so long before their kids did."

"I knew about Ben’s old girlfriends," Peter points out. "There’s a picture of one of them in a photo album somewhere. The girl with the big hair."

"Martha Fields. Ben dated her all through college."

"You guys met like two years after that, right?"

May hums. "A little more than that, actually. Believe it or not, I had a whole life before Ben."

"You _did?"_ Peter gasps. May flicks his ear. "Ow. So, when did you meet Tony?"

"About a year after college. I was engaged to - "

"You were engaged?" Peter shrieks, jerking upwards. "To who?"

"I’ll tell you if you stop yapping." May waits for Peter to settle back down before continuing. "I was engaged to a guy called Dwayne. He was a podiatrist and...really, really boring. I was working crappy hours for crappy pay, planning a wedding and...I wasn’t happy. I felt like I should be somewhere else, doing something else. So me and my friend Kate, my roommate at the time, decided to get away from our problems and pooled all our money together for some tickets to Italy."

"And that’s where you met Tony."

A smile appears on May’s face, wistful and soft, her eyes glazing like she’s gone somewhere that Peter can’t quite see. "I ran into him, literally, on the street. My shoe fell off and I went flying, but he caught me."

"The picture," Peter says. "You in the red dress and Tony holding your shoe."

"Yeah. I was so caught up I didn’t notice the photographers straight away." May’s cheeks turn slightly pink. "As you can probably tell from those pictures. God, this is embarrassing. You’re meant to be listening to me scold you for leaving dishes in the sink again, not talk about my love life."

"If it helps, this is much more fun."

May rolls her eyes. "Just proves how much you really hate doing the dishes."

"Mm." Peter rolls his head to the side, resting his nose against May’s knee. He thinks of Ben for a moment; of his goofy humour, his easy nature, the way he would sing terribly in the kitchen making dinner. "What was Tony like?"

May doesn’t answer straight away, just continues to play with his hair. "A bit of an ass, charming, tenacious if you wanna put a polite spin on it." 

"And?" Peter prompts, knowing there’s more.

"And romantic," May adds, her words soft as though sharing a secret. "Kind, funny. Even before I realised who he was, I couldn’t believe someone like him could be real. Within thirty minutes of meeting one another, we were talking poetry and dancing in the streets."

"Poetry?" Peter asks in disbelief. "Mister Stark knows poetry?"

"Well, a _poem,_ at least." 

"How did it go?"

Peter twists his head back to catch May smiling again. "Why don’t you ask him?"

"Maybe I will," he counters. "Not a fan of Tony Stark. I can’t _believe_ you said that."

"It’s true. _Was_ true. We didn’t end on bad terms, not like that. I just...over the years, all those stories...It was more about me worrying what he would bring into _your_ life more than anything else, I guess."

There’s an automatic flare of protectiveness in Peter’s gut. "Good things," he insists, "he’s been - Mister Stark’s been good to me. I know it didn’t start out great but - "

"Oh, I know," May says. "He’s definitely stepped up more than I expected him to."

Peter considers his next question carefully. "Did Ben know?" 

May’s snort of laughter automatically makes him grin. "Please," she huffs, "he found the whole thing hilarious. Teased me when Tony was on television. ‘Oo, look honey,’ he’d say, ‘there’s lover boy,’ like it was the funniest joke ever."

It’s an easy image for Peter to build in his head, for he was witness to many a moment like that over the years. Ben hamming it up about one thing or another, laughing loudly the more exasperated May would get, unable to hide her smile until she inevitably threw a cloth or pillow at him, making them all laugh even harder. 

Peter’s chest pangs at the memory, like it always does, but he genuinely means it when he fumbles for May’s hand and says, "It’s...okay, you know."

"What’s okay?"

"You and Tony."

"Oh," May’s face turns awkward, her posture turning fidgety. "Peter, there’s no - "

"Don’t get me wrong, it is kinda weird ‘cause...well it’s Mister Stark and it’s you," Peter rambles as he sits up, "and this is just a gross concept in general - "

"We’re not _gross_ \- "

"But I’ve seen way worse things in my life so, if you guys wanna," he hunches his shoulders up to his ears, " _date_ \- "

"Peter - "

"Then I don’t think it would be a bad thing."

May’s protests stop and her movements still as she looks at him, eyes wide and strangely sad, like the very idea had been something she’d only toyed with but never allowed herself to believe in. For as much as they talk about Ben, there’s never been much of a focus on what happens to the person left behind in a marriage that ends when neither person was ready for it to; it’s always been about May and Peter propping each other up, figuring out ways to move on with just the basic parts of life. 

Then May found out about Spider-Man and the way of their lives changed all over again. 

And now things are changing once more, but this time, the spotlight is on May. 

May squeezes Peter’s hand but her gaze is no longer on him. It’s on the magazine now resting on the coffee table, the pages slightly creased from where Tony had rolled it up and whacked Peter with it the night before. 

"Why the change of heart?" she asks. "The way you were carrying on earlier, I thought your head was going to explode."

"Hey, I was in shock, okay?" Peter grumbles. "I _might_ have...overreacted, just a little bit."

"Just a little bit, sure."

"But…" Peter shrugs, "I can deal with it."

"I don’t want you to have to _deal_ with it - "

May falls silent as Peter picks up the magazine and drops it into her lap, moving one of his fingers to tap the picture of her in the street with Tony at her feet. 

"I like your hair like that," he says softly. 

And it’s enough, because there’s a smile on May’s face again, no longer wistful but soft and gently excited. 

"Mm," she hums, "Me too."

A week later, when Tony steps into the apartment with a surprisingly modest bouquet of sunflowers to find May with a tousled pixie smirking at him from the kitchen, when Tony’s mouth drops slightly at the sight of her and May’s cheeks turn as pink as a flamingo, when Peter hears them wish each other goodnight after their first official date, he feels any remaining hints of trepidation and initial traumatic outrage lighten and lift away. 

Sure, it’s still weird. A first date is one thing but the idea of _Mister Stark_ kissing his _aunt_ is not something he feels ready to deal with yet, and he dreads the day that one of them invariably says or alludes to something that will make him want to jump out of a window or take a scouring brush to his brain. 

But they’re happy, and he’s happy for them. 

So what’s the worst that can happen?

  
  



	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here we are for chapter twoooo. Hope you enjoy <3

"Tony Stark."

"Mmhmm."

"Your aunt is dating Tony Stark."

"Yep."

_"May_ is dating - "

"Oh my _god,_ Ned, seriously."

"I’m sorry, I just - this is insane, your life is insane."

"Dude, my life is gonna be hell if you don’t help me finish this paper for history class. "

"Oh right, sorry, sorry."

* * *

"You are _shitting_ me."

From across the table in the busy diner, Rhodey’s eyes grow ever wider as they flick back and forth between Tony and Peter. 

"You’re telling me that your aunt," he points at Peter, "is the same girl that you," his finger jerks towards Tony, "lost your goddamn mind over in Italy back in ninety four?" 

"I didn’t _lose my mind - "_

"You absolutely did. He did," Rhodey says to Peter, wrinkling his nose exaggeratedly. "All I heard for weeks on end was ‘Should I try and call her? Do you think she’s thinking about me? May this, May that - "

"Alright, alright," Tony flaps a hand. "You made your point."

Peter snorts into his milkshake. "Wow, Mister Stark."

"Don’t wow me, I’ve seen you go all gooey eyed whenever you talk about your scary girlfriend."

"She’s not my girlfriend."

"Besides, he’s a sixteen year old kid," Rhodey chimes in. "He’s allowed to be dumb. You, on the other hand, had no excuse for the weeks of complaining you made me sit through."

Peter waits for Tony to throw back some sort of cutting remark, but instead the man remains silent, a small indiscernible smile on his face as he fiddles with the handle of his coffee mug. 

"I still can’t believe it," Rhodey says. "What a small world, huh?"

"Clearly, seeing as I can never quite seem to get rid of you."

"Oh, that’s how it is, huh?"

The conversation windmills into the familiar and pointless bickering that Peter knows far too well by now, and he settles back with his milkshake to wait for the inevitable moment where one of them brings up something monumentally embarrassing and the food starts flying. 

  
  


* * *

"What about this one?"

Peter looks up from his homework, pencil clenched between his teeth. 

"Nah," he says after a moment, "too flashy."

"Flashy," May repeats, looking down at the green sparkly dress she’s wearing. "Flashy, right, okay."

She rushes back into her room, her heels clacking on the floor, and resumes ransacking her wardrobe. Peter manages to answer three more questions on his biology worksheet before there’s a jaunty rat-tat-tat on the front door. 

"Hey, kid," Tony greets as Peter lets him in. "Nice jammies."

"Latest in comfort chic," Peter says, extending a leg to the side like a ballerina to show off his faded and wonderfully soft Hello Kitty pajama pants. "Best thing you ever got me."

"That so? Guess I better take that million dollar plus suit back then."

Peter merely rolls his eyes and topples face first into the couch, choosing to forget about his homework for now. Tony pats one of his feet as he walks past and calls, "May?"

There’s a crash, the clacking of heels again, and Peter lifts his head to see May peering out from her bedroom, smiling sheepishly and her hair a ruffled mess. Tony, for his part, is leaning against the wall by her bedroom door, an amused grin on his face.

"Not ready yet, huh."

"You know, you were pretty vague about the dress code, so really this is your fault."

"Interesting," Tony nods, leaning a little closer, making May’s grin turn brighter. "I seem to remember being of great help that night I helped you get ready back in Italy."

Peter clears his throat loudly to remind them of his presence and then stuffs his head back into the cushions. He has absolutely no desire to witness any flirting firsthand. Over the last couple of weeks, he’s only seen Tony and May together a handful of times, usually in the interim before a date as May gathers her things while Tony fiddles with something Peter rescued from the dumpster on the way home from school, and he’s grateful for the effort they’ve put into keeping things as normal as possible, like hardly anything has changed. 

But they’re not as subtle as they think they are in moments like this. The humming thrum of their heartbeats, out of sync yet weirdly in tune with one another, speaks volumes to Peter’s sensitive ears. 

Tony chuckles gruffly and says, "Anyway. Take your time, no rush. Though you might wanna wear something stretchy ‘cause trust me, once you try the lobster rolls, you won’t be able to stop at just one."

"Really?" May says, then sighs. "Damn it, okay, hang on."

The bedroom door shuts again and Tony comes to sit by Peter’s feet. He prods an ankle and Peter grunts and halfheartedly flails one of his legs. They go back and forth like this, quiet and comfortable, until Tony’s heart jolts loud enough for Peter’s head to jerk up in automatic panic, though it quickly settles when he sees Tony halfway to his feet, smiling brightly at May as she stands nearby in a white dress. It’s a little crinkled at the bottom and the shoes on her feet are scuffed but even Peter finds himself taken aback at how pretty she looks, how young and happy. 

He thinks of Ben again; of how he would come up with silly ideas for dates to make up for not being able to take May out to fancy restaurants or classy events. He’d bring home a bag of fruit and create wacky cocktails in the kitchen while wearing a ratty old blazer over a grubby t-shirt and his sweatpants, or put something old on the vintage record player in the corner and clumsily spin May around the living room until they inevitably fell over or broke something, giggling so loudly that Peter would retreat from where he would be watching through the small gap in his bedroom door and hide beneath the covers to stifle his own laughter. 

The ache that settles in Peter’s chest as May gives Tony a twirl is heavy but not painful, almost like someone pressing on an old bruise that isn’t quite visible anymore. He feels himself smile as Tony leans in to press a kiss to May’s cheek, whispering something in her ear that Peter doesn’t try to hear, and gives a wave as they head for the door. 

"See you in the morning, sweetie," May calls. "Don’t stay up too late."

"I won’t," Peter replies dutifully, fully intending on eating himself into an ice cream coma. 

As Tony reaches back to close the door behind them, his gaze meets Peter’s in exactly the way it has every time he’s stopped by to pick up May lately: searching, reserved, _guarded,_ as though he expects the tide to turn against him at any moment. 

Peter knows that Tony worries about overstepping the line, stumbling into spaces that aren’t made for him and accidentally knocking open old wounds. He’s never said as much, but like a lot of things with Tony, he doesn’t have to, because it’s suddenly written all over his face, flickering in his eyes as they continue to scan Peter’s face in quick hummingbird zigzags. 

The ache in Peter’s chest whittles and bends into something else, something that chisels in deeper, right next to the space inside him that’s solely reserved for Ben. It doesn’t hurt. In fact, it’s brilliantly warm, if slightly fierce, like the way the sun bounces off the Hudson in the late afternoon, and it makes the back of Peter’s nose sting. 

Tony’s not Ben. Right from the start, way before this thing with May, he’s never tried to be Ben and Peter has definitely never wanted him to be Ben. 

And that’s what makes this okay. Tony is Tony, Ben is still Ben in all that he was and all that he left behind with Peter and May, and with a bit of shuffling and readjusting here and there, there’s more than enough room for everything to fit together. It might resemble the bulging madness of Peter’s wardrobe, everything tangled up and crammed in with no concept or awareness of what the hell is really going on, but it still fits. 

So it’s with genuine sincerity, with all the love that’s been growing in the _Mister Stark_ space inside his chest ever since he was a kid that Peter says, "Have fun, Tony."

Tony’s eyes blink wide, momentarily blurring the creases and the lines and turning him just a few years younger. Then he smiles: the warm smile that only appears every now and then, vibrant and dominant in the way it seems to cover every inch of his entire person. 

"Thanks, Pete," he says, then pulls the door shut. 

After finishing the rest of his homework, Peter devours a tub of cookie dough ice cream and passes out on the couch watching old reruns of Star Trek. The smell of bacon beckons him awake in the morning and he opens his eyes to see May sitting at the table with a mug of coffee and Tony standing by the stove, dressed in a pair of May’s more baggier pajama pants and the shirt he had been wearing the night before. 

Peter blinks. This is new. This is a different level, something he had been anticipating but still feels unprepared for. He waits for the inevitable hit, the spike of discomfort that will suddenly make this whole scenario unpalatable and spoilt. 

It doesn’t come. 

Instead, he hears himself say a croaky, "Morning," and suddenly two very alert and sheepish gazes are on him and the atmosphere instantly turns taut and prickly. It’s weird, almost unbearably so, and the awkwardness rises up as glances are exchanged, their stares bouncing back and forth like ping pong balls. 

As quickly as it comes, it all fades back into something familiar, comforting, like well worn jeans paired with a favourite pair of shoes. Peter slouches into a lazy lump over the arm of the couch and grins sleepily at Tony. 

"Make mine extra crispy."

May snorts and Tony rolls his eyes. "Yes, _master,_ whatever you say, _master_ ," he hisses goofily and flips the frying pan. 

* * *

_"In other news, Tony Stark was seen leaving the Grand Central Oyster Bar yesterday evening, accompanied by the same woman that he has been frequently spotted with over the course of the last seven weeks. Sources suggest that Stark is in fact in a serious relationship with this woman, a still as of yet identified romantic acquaintance from his younger years - "_

Peter snorts at the television while Tony harrumphs. "Younger years. They make me sound like a damn fossil."

"You are," Peter says as he takes a bite of his ham sandwich, not needing to look over his shoulder to know that a scowl is being thrown his way. "You pull it off well though."

"Brat."

Peter stuffs the rest of his sandwich into his mouth and cranes his neck back so he can see Tony. "So?"

Tony, perched at the kitchen counter, looks up from his tablet. "What?"

"You know what."

"Oh for the love of - no, okay, I didn’t get you a doggy bag. Contrary to what you might believe, my main purpose in life is not to feed you."

"Why are you talking like that box of cannolis over there isn’t for me?"

Tony glares at him. Peter grins. A moment later, the box flies towards his head. 

"You’re lucky I’m a nice guy," Tony grumbles. 

"Oh, yeah, super nice," Peter agrees as he opens the box and practically buries his head inside. "Best guy ever."

"Don’t get crumbs on my couch."

"Can’t hear you. Eating."

Tony shakes his head and goes back to looking at his tablet. A minute or two later, he says, "So, seeing as I’m the _best guy ever_ , and apparently exist only to sustain your insatiable appetite, you wanna grab a bite to eat with me sometime this week? Wherever you want."

"Sure," Peter says amiably through a huge mouthful. "Oo, that place _Bernie’s,_ you know the one with the giant dinosaur statue outside it? Ned says they do all you can eat chili cheese fries on Friday nights."

"Oh, how wonderful, how I can’t wait to spend an entire evening watching you do your oh so accurate impression of a human vacuum."

Peter crams the rest of the cannoli into his mouth. "Hey, you offered."

"I did," Tony agrees. "May likes chili cheese fries, right?"

"Yeah. I mean, they’re not her favourite but - " Peter pauses, gulps, and slowly turns to look at Tony. "Uh..."

"I just - " Tony rushes to say, grimacing as though he’s in pain, the same kind of look he gets after accidentally stabbing himself with a screwdriver. "Y’know, thought it might be...nice? Dinner, the three of us, proper conversation as like a…" he waves a hand, " _thing._ A unit. A group. _"_

Peter nods slowly, the obvious word for such a dynamic blaring in his head as loudly as a foghorn. 

"And breakfast the other morning was nice, right?" Tony rambles, standing up and walking over, then straight past Peter’s chair until he’s all but circling it like some kind of confused shark. "I know it wasn’t planned, the whole staying over thing, it was definitely last minute - "

"Okay!" Peter yelps, lurching up onto his knees and grabbing one of Tony’s arms. "I get it. Dinner. The three of us. Bonding, connecting, whatever. I’ll do it, just please _shut up."_

The look of surprise on Tony’s face flips into an expression of immense relief. His body drops as though being released from a great height, bringing him almost eye to eye with Peter, and his laugh seems to resemble more of a long, thankful sigh. "Okay. Good, that’s - that’s good, kid."

Peter long ago lost count of all the times Tony’s taken him and May out for dinner; swung by with takeout under the pretence of being in the neighborhood; escorted May home after the brunches they used to have before they were together, something they used to jokingly refer to as their bi-monthly Peter review. 

This is something important, a much bigger deal than an impromptu breakfast involving the morning news playing in the background and Peter taking surreptitious photos of Tony wearing yellow pajama pants to send to Ned. 

Considering this, Peter lets out a thoughtful hum. "Guess we better go somewhere better than _Bernie’s_."

"You don’t want chili cheese fries?"

"We can pick those up on the way home." Peter suggests. "An after-dinner snack."

Tony laughs and ruffles Peter’s hair, his hand slipping down to squeeze Peter’s neck fondly like always. Peter leans into the touch like usual, closing his eyes for a second, feeling extremely glad that some things haven’t changed at all. 

* * *

_"Kid - "_

"I know, I know," Peter huffs, swinging down into a deserted alley and glancing around before he rushes out onto the street. "Not my fault, okay? There was a thing with - whoops, sorry!" he calls to a man as their shoulders collide. "A thing with a hot dog cart and Ned and - "

_"Pete,"_ Tony sighs, _"all I need is a timeframe."_

"Two minutes!" Peter stops to check his reflection in a store front window, tugging at his sleeves to make sure his web-shooter bracelets aren’t peeping out from under the cuffs, then takes off again. "Two minutes!"

_"We’ll meet you outside. See ya in a sec, kiddo."_

Peter shoves his phone into his pocket and carries on jogging, dancing and bouncing between the crowds, hoping that his deodorant holds up during dinner. A few more blocks, at least four people swearing at him and finally he’s across the street from the bar that Tony and May are waiting in. Lifting his hand to shield his eyes from the low rays of the setting sun peeking through the nearby buildings, Peter sees them standing near the curb just outside, May fiddling with her purse and Tony dutifully holding her jacket. 

Traffic is light and Peter immediately spots a gap for him to run through, but a violent tingle up the back of his neck stops him in his tracks. 

As though he physically hears the silent alert, Tony looks up and meets Peter’s gaze, the beginnings of a frown forming on his face just as a man steps up behind him and brings the butt of a handgun down against his head. 

Peter’s stomach turns to lead just as his body leaps forward into the traffic, his vision contorting into a blur of panic when he hears May cry out; watches her throw a punch at the guy while Tony drops the jacket and spins woozily on the spot, only to jerk back a few feet as a gunshot pierces the air. 

Halfway across the street, Peter _freezes._

Tony sinks to his knees. 

May is _screaming._

People are panicking and running, brakes are squealing and horns are beeping but it doesn’t matter because Tony is on the ground and May is screaming and Peter can’t move, can’t breathe, can’t think. 

Another man grabs May and she yells, her voice high and grating as she calls for Tony, her arms and legs whirling as she struggles against the guy yanking her towards a car. 

_"May!"_

Peter’s moving again and it’s with fear scalding him from the inside out, his mind turning blank in his desperation to stop this from happening. Without thinking, he shoves his sleeves up and aims both wrists at the car as May disappears into the back seat, his fingers looping down to hit the release - 

"Wait!"

Tony’s broken voice brings the world rushing back in. Peter stops, arms still outstretched and twists, just for a split second, to look at Tony’s stricken form on the ground; sees the blood pooling from his shoulder and the crowd starting to surround him; sees the blind terror in his eyes. 

Then Peter hears the furious screeching of tyres as the car speeds away and his entire world collapses all around him. 

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! Kind comments and kudos appreciated <3 Stay tuned for more!


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